9. Sophie #2
“Well,” I say briskly, “that’s in the past. I’m here to do a job. I assume you want the same thing, to find whoever broke into your facility and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
He looks at me for a moment without answering.
“Of course,” he says. “That’s exactly what we want.”
The door opens behind me, and I turn to see two men enter.
Jesus Christ. As if one insanely good-looking alpha wasn’t enough.
The first is tall, as tall as Finn if not taller, with dark hair that’s nearly black and green eyes so piercing they feel like they’re looking straight into your soul. He’s looking right at me, right into me, like he’s already dissecting everything I am and taking me apart.
He’s dressed casually, a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, no tie, no jacket, but somehow that just makes him more intimidating. Like he doesn’t need a suit to signal to everyone that he’s in charge.
My pulse goes up a notch, and I resent being an omega more than ever.
This has to be the pack alpha.
My eyes shift to the second man, and my breath hitches.
He’s the tallest of them, with light brown hair that’s artfully messy, like he ran his hands through it one too many times.
Gray eyes behind dark-framed glasses flick over me with quiet focus, assessing but not aggressive.
He tilts his head slightly as he studies me, and there’s something almost restrained in the way he holds himself.
He doesn’t crowd the space the way the other one does.
The three of them stand there, arranged in a loose triangle that probably isn’t intentional but speaks to years of instinctive pack dynamics, and I have to fight the urge to take a step back.
It’s like God made three perfect men and thought, sure, that seems reasonable. Might as well make them obscenely rich while we’re at it. Give them a billion-dollar company and stupidly chiseled jawlines. Why the hell not.
I hate them on principle.
“You must be Sophie.” The dark-haired one speaks first. He doesn’t offer his hand. “I’m Max Cavill. Griffin speaks highly of you.”
“I hope to live up to his recommendation.”
“I’m Ethan.” The one with glasses steps forward, his voice warmer than Max’s. “Welcome to Synthera. I understand you’ll be helping us with our security issue.”
“That’s the plan.” I look between the three of them.
“Why don’t we sit?” Ethan gestures toward the leather seating area near the windows. “We have a lot to cover.”
We settle into the seats, the three alphas on one couch, me alone on the other. It feels like a job interview. Or an interrogation.
I reach into my bag and pull out a tablet. “I’ll need full profiles on all your employees, access levels, any performance issues or personal conflicts. I’ll also need access to your security footage from the past month, not just the night of the break-in.”
“Griffin mentioned you were direct,” Max says.
“I don’t see the point in wasting time.”
“Good. Neither do we.” Max leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. “Someone got into our facility, disabled our climate control, and nearly destroyed years of very sensitive research.”
What, temperature-regulated dildos? I keep my expression neutral.
“That wasn’t random,” I say. “That was targeted. Which means someone either gave them information or someone on your staff is the mole themselves. I intend to find out which.”
Max and Ethan exchange a quick, almost imperceptible glance. Finn shifts his weight, his eyes on the floor.
They’re worried. Interesting.
I study their faces, trying to read what’s underneath.
Why would this be such a big deal? Someone broke in and messed with their climate control.
Annoying, sure. Expensive, probably. But the tension rolling off these three feels disproportionate to some damaged prototypes for vibrators or whatever they’re cooking up in that lab.
Maybe it’s an ego thing. Rich men don’t like being reminded they’re vulnerable. That someone got past their security, walked through their precious building, touched their things.
Or maybe they’re just dramatic. Billionaires usually are.
“Ethan has prepared files on everyone with access to the affected areas,” Max says finally. Ethan rises and crosses to the desk, retrieving a thick folder that he places in my hands. “That should give you a starting point.”
I flip it open, scanning the first few pages. Names, photos, job titles, access levels. “I’ll also need you to walk me through exactly what happened that night. Every detail, no matter how small.”
Max nods slowly. “Where do you want to start?”
“The beginning. Walk me through that night exactly as it happened.”
Ethan moves to the wall-mounted screen and pulls up the security footage. The image flickers to life, a grainy, green-tinged view of a corridor. Timestamp reads 12:43 AM.
“The alarm triggered at 12:47,” Max says, his eyes fixed on the screen. “We were at the residence. All three of us came immediately.”
“How far is the residence from this building?”
“About half a mile. We were here within five minutes.”
On screen, a figure drops through a window. Small build, dressed head to toe in black, face obscured by a ski mask. They land in a crouch and pause for barely a second before moving.
My skin prickles.
The intruder navigates the corridor without hesitation. They move like they’ve walked this route a hundred times before.
“They knew exactly where they were going,” I murmur, more to myself than to them.
“Yes.” Max doesn’t take his eyes off the screen. “That’s what concerns us.”
“Who discovered the temperature anomaly?”
“Nathan, our head of security,” Ethan answers. “He was monitoring the overnight systems. The alarm triggered when someone attached a bypass device to the storage room panel in the Clinical Wing. That’s what flagged the system.”
“How long before it was restored?”
Ethan hesitates. “Fourteen minutes.”
I look up from my notes. “Fourteen minutes is a long time.”
“It felt longer.” Ethan’s eyes drop briefly to the folder in my hands before coming back up. “If it had been another sixty seconds, we would have lost everything.”
Everything. Dramatic, considering we’re talking about a bunch of sex toys. But whatever.
“Any new hires in the past three months?”
Max shakes his head. “No one with access to that wing.”
“Anyone acting strangely? Coming in at odd hours, asking questions they shouldn’t be asking?”
“Not that we’ve noticed,” Finn says. It’s the first time he’s spoken in a while, and his voice makes me glance up. He’s leaning back with his arms crossed, and I can’t read him at all. “But that’s the problem, isn’t it? If we’d noticed, we wouldn’t need you.”
Fair point. I hold his gaze for a beat longer than necessary before returning to my notes.
“Financial troubles? Personal issues? Anyone with a grudge against the company?”
“Our employees are well compensated,” Max says flatly. “We take care of our people.”
“That doesn’t mean someone can’t be bought. Or blackmailed. Or convinced they’re doing the right thing by selling you out.” I flip my tablet closed. “Everyone has a price. I just need to find out who took the offer.”
By the time we’re done, I have pages of notes and a mental list of at least a dozen employees who warrant closer investigation.
“I have enough to get started,” I say, rising from my chair. “I’ll review the files today and submit a preliminary assessment by tomorrow morning. I’ll also need Sentinel to run background checks on everyone, including your security team.”
“Nathan won’t like that,” Ethan murmurs.
“Nathan can dislike it all he wants. If there’s a mole, I’m going to find them. That means everyone gets scrutinized.” I meet his eyes steadily. “No exceptions. No one is above suspicion until I’ve ruled them out.”
For a moment, none of them speak.
Max nods. “Lucy will show you to your quarters. We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning to go over your assessment.”
I get up and gather my things. The air in the room has gone tight and charged. I feel Max’s stare on my back as I move, while Ethan studies me, quiet and assessing.
Finn won’t even look at me.
It took me two days to build this cover, and I spent every hour of it memorizing my cover story, Synthera’s layout, and their security systems. It never occurred to me to find out more about the men I’d be working for. They were the clients, not the suspects.
And now I really wish I fucking had.